Fairy Tales
by An Unknown
Summary: Or, Reality Ensues. A half dozen or so years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Hermione are still having trouble understanding that St George doesn't always come away whole and healthy from fighting the Dragon.


_**A/N: This one's a bit longer than my usual fare. I can't really offer an apology for it except that the image of Hermione sitting on the floor in a dormitory typing out an essay while Harry made unhelpful comments from atop the bed positively would not get out of my head until I wrote it up. At any rate, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please read and review; it doesn't take that long to say you enjoyed or didn't enjoy it and why. It helps me improve my writing, and it motivates me to write more the more responses I get. And, as always, I do not own this, I do not want to own it, I will not make any money off of it, and I do not want to make any money off of it; all rights and money belong to JK Rowling. Please don't sue me. Thank you. PAXDEITECVM.**_

Hermione was sitting in a rather peculiar position in one corner of her dormitory, busily typing away on her laptop computer when the door opened and someone came in. Believing it to be her roommate, she did not look up to inquire, 'Carter? Is that you'? Thunder crashed outside and she rolled her eyes. 'I cannot believe Carter taught you how to do that; she of all people should know better'!

Harry shrugged. 'What? It's a stormy day outside; you can't prove that that wasn't just a coincidence'. He put on his most innocent expression before stepping out where she could see him. She rolled her eyes again and continued typing.

After a few more moments than was absolutely necessary watching her type, he tore himself away and plopped down on the side of her bed. 'I'm really sorry to keep planting myself on you like this. It's not really fair. If you're busy, I can go find someplace else to wait'?

'Harry, if I didn't want you around, I would let you know. I haven't. Therefore, I want you around'.

'I know, but it's such an imposition! And it's getting more frequent, too. And you're working, and I'm interrupting you...I should just go'. He got up to leave, but just as he was approaching the door, it locked itself. Harry looked over at Hermione, who was looking at him with an expression remarkably similar to the one he had given her a few moments previously.

'What can I say? Egyptologists-occult Egyptologists, at least-know a bit about locked doors. Usually we're trying to _unlock_ them, but every now and then...' She raised one eyebrow and after a moment returned to her typing.

Harry sighed and sat back down. 'At the very least accept my apology. It's just that...ever since that first time, I try to stay as far away as possible when they're practising a Greater Summoning...'

'I don't blame you. Your eyebrows still haven't fully grown back. But do they really have to do it in your dormitory, of all places? Tell them to do it in the laboratories; that's what they're for, after all'!

'Apparently they try to do so as much as possible, but the labs are seldom available. Since we're not openly acknowledged by the University, Lazarus College is not exactly wealthy, and some of the facilities are at this point dreadfully inadequate'.

Hermione snorted. 'The Benefactors are more than capable of adequately supplying the College. If I hadn't retired from my work at the ministry, I expect I'd go take it up with Them.

'As for your apology'. She stopped typing and looked up at him. 'Harry. You shouldn't apologise for giving me the opportunity to spend time with my best friend. I enjoy it. I...well...to be perfectly honest... Oh, never mind'. She flushed slightly, though it would have taken a remarkably observant individual to notice. Harry had never been a particularly observant individual, and he did not suddenly become any better at it right then.

He did, however, say, 'Oh, come on. You can't just leave me hanging like that. What were you about to say'?

'Nothing'. He looked down at her sceptically. She looked up at him again, and then quickly looked away. Hesitantly, 'Some days...when the night terrors have been especially bad...or something reminds me of that time...' She trailed off. It was some time before she picked up again. 'On the hard days, it's honestly a large part of what keeps me going. The chance to see a friend like you, or Carter, or even Blaise...' She muttered in a voice too soft for him to hear, 'But mostly you...' Her blush deepened and she returned to her typing. After a few seconds of silence, she finished her thought. 'So don't you dare stop coming to see me, and don't you dare try to apologise for doing it too much. Clear'?

He nodded. 'Clear'. After a few moments, 'Thank you. And next term, when Blaise finishes his work on summoning and returns to necrology proper, you're welcome to do the same thing to me'.

She continued typing. 'I'm sure I'll do so. But as you say, I think I'll wait until the probability of interrupting your roommate's attempt at a Greater Summoning has been substantially reduced'.

'A sound policy. What are you working on, anyway? Something for Singh? If I'm remembering rightly, you met with him today. Getting started on your essay'?

Distractedly, 'No'.

'Well surely it's not old de la Roche; you're meeting with him tomorrow, and I've never known you to still have outstanding work the day before its due'.

'Nope'.

'I also happen to know that they are the only tutors you're working with this term; if it isn't for one of them, what on earth are you writing about'?

She sighed. 'If you must know...my therapist told me the other day to think about and try to articulate what I think the war did to me-and if you get that guilty look on your face every time I make reference to my psychological battle-scars, I'm going to start hitting you. It was my choice to fight by your side. It's a choice I would make again, even if I knew that things would turn out even worse. It was the right thing to do, and I needed to do it. More importantly, you were-are-my best friend. I _couldn't_ abandon you. How many times must I say it? It is NOT YOUR FAULT'.

Harry thought to himself, One of my best friends _did_ abandon me, though... Aloud, he replied, 'Hermione, you know that it's my natural inclination to take the blame for these things. I'm sorry for that, and I am trying. I know it's not my fault...but I still feel horrible about what happened to you and Neville and the others...' They sat in silence for a few seconds. He brightened slightly and went back to his original thought. 'But, Hermione...we go to the same therapist. She told me to think about and articulate that, too. She didn't mention an essay'.

Hermione blushed and opened her mouth to apologise when Harry made a disapproving noise and shook his head. 'Now, now, Miss Granger...no apologising. I mean it. Were it not for your intelligence and tenacity, I would be dead many, many times over. More importantly, though...it's that intellect and that dedication that make you...well...' It was now Harry's turn to blush, but he could not think of another way to say what he needed to convey to her, and so in true Gryffindor fashion, he decided to bite the proverbial bullet. 'What makes you beautiful, as opposed to merely "pretty" or "sexy"-whatever the hell those mean'.

She blushed in response to that and stammered out her thanks. While she was distracted, though, Harry took advantage of it to reach over and pluck the laptop from her grasp. 'Now...let's see what you wrote here...'

Hermione jumped, grasping after it, and then lunged for it, but his superior height and longer reach made it impossible for her to get it back. She reached out with her hand and tried to summon it, but all that that seemed to do was conjure a peculiar green mist that dissipated quickly. He explained, 'One of the more interesting tricks they teach us in an Applied Entropics degree: the ability to convert other magic entirely into entropic "lost" energy'.

'Dammit, give me that back, Harry'! In a darker, firmer tone, 'Don't read that'.

'Language, Hermione,' Harry replied in a teasing voice.

She sighed in exasperation and slumped back down into the corner where she'd been sitting. 'Fine, then. Read it, if you will. But be warned...you may not like what you find'.

He looked at the open document. 'Oh, naturally it _would_ be in full-on essay format, complete with footnotes'.

'Shut up'! she said as she blushed and tossed the nearest object she could reach at him-a small wax shabti that she had been studying, as it turned out. She immediately heard an exclamation of pain and surprise. She quirked one eyebrow. 'To be clear...that was the shabti, not you, that just cried out in pain, correct'?

She was correct, but she received no answer, as Harry was already occupied reading her essay. 'It has been observed that fairy-tales and other children's stories do not teach children about the existence of dragons and other monsters. All human beings know instinctively about the monsters. Fairy-tales and children's stories teach children, not that the Minotaur exists, but that Theseus exists; not that dragons exist, but that St George exists. That this is an important lesson to learn is undeniable, but there is something that these stories always seem to leave out. What happens to Theseus? What happens to St George? The last decade of my life has been one long confrontation with the things about which the fairy-tales I learned growing up did not warn me.

'It makes sense, of course; telling little Johnny that after killing monsters for so long, Theseus realised that killing monsters was all that he was good for, or informing little Susie that St George now has PTSD from his encounter with the dragon, does not exactly contribute to the lesson these stories are meant to provide. The knowledge that the dragon gave St George PTSD or that the monsters corrupted Theseus and made him into a monster undermines substantially the point that dragons and minotaurs can be defeated-after all, the monsters do seem to get the proverbial last laugh when the heroes come away permanently damaged. In some sense, we all want to believe that all heroes can be Cincinnatus. It is comforting to think that, when some great cause is moving in the world and we get caught up in a great struggle between good and evil or civilisation and barbarism or heroes and monsters, the heroes-us, presumably-can take up arms and fight and defeat the enemy, and then when the crisis is ended return to private life on our proverbial farms. I know that that's what the magical civilians all expected. They were all so shocked when it became clear how troubled we "heroes" were. The truth is that monsters rarely die, and even when they do, heroes are never the same after they have confronted the monsters.

'If we look at the fairy-tale version of what happened after the final defeat of Lord Voldemort and his followers, it paints a remarkably nice picture. Like all fairy-tale endings, it can really be summed up with the words, "And they all lived happily ever after", but it can be instructive to look at some of the specifics. Presumably, in this fairy-tale universe, life went "back to normal" pretty quickly. Hogwarts opened its doors on 1 September that year, fully repaired and ready for students, just like every previous 1 September. After repeating our seventh year at Hogwarts, we former heroes all got started on our various career paths, the dreams we had had from before the War. Harry and Ron became aurors. I went into the DMLE to defend the rights of Magical Creatures-maybe someday I became Minister of Magic. I expect Neville quickly took over teaching herbology at Hogwarts-Sprout was nearing retirement, anyway, and in fairy-tales that sort of convenient coincidence happens all the time. Luna presumably became a naturalist, and I know Ginny must have gone into professional Quidditch.

'We all got over the deaths of our loved ones remarkably quickly. After a brief period of mourning, George went on with his life, continuing to run Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes without difficulty even though everything he saw or touched or heard or smelt in that shop would have reminded him of his dead twin brother. Maybe I didn't even lose anyone. Perhaps I discovered the cure for obliviation that no wizard back to Merlin ever invented and used it to bring my parents back-and of course, this being a fairy-tale, they immediately understood and forgave me, and I immediately understood and forgave myself. Presumably we all married our pre-war sweethearts. Ron and I had a son and a daughter, and Harry had three children with Ginny. Neville married Luna, or maybe Hannah Abbott, if Luna went off to be a naturalist before they got the chance to be together. And because no fairy-tale would be complete without a good redemption motif, Draco Malfoy suddenly transformed from a murderous, bigoted, racist, arrogant fool with little talent and less intellect into a generic "good person", who had a son the same age as my daughter.

'But as much as we might like to believe that they-that we-all lived "happily ever after", the truth is that Reality Ensues. Hogwarts Castle never opened its doors again. The structure was just too damaged. It collapsed entirely before they could finish surveying it to see what work needed to be done. A new school has been built at a different location, but Hogwarts is no more. Very few of us ever went back to complete our NEWTs, and none went back that following year. Almost all of us-all of the now-adult heroes-went off to travel and "find ourselves". No one that I knew personally has taken up or is pursuing the same career they wanted before the war. Ron, after returning from his sojourn, devoted his life to charity work. He had learned a number of very important lessons about what's really important in life. Mostly he travels around various rural areas, helping underprivileged children. Harry tried to be an auror and discovered that he could not deal with dark wizards any more. For a long time he considered disappearing altogether, never to return. His travels helped him realise how much he loves learning and understanding things, and his newfound curiosity has brought him back to human society. He is now studying applied entropics here at the University of Oxford to become an Unspeakable. I, too, tried to work with the Ministry, to bring about the necessary political reform, but soon discovered that even war, though it can destroy lives, cannot destroy the political establishment of the Wizengamot. I have given up on politics, and am now studying to be an occult archæologist. Luna never found out what she wanted to do with her life. She was killed in a rail accident in Kyoto barely six months after the Battle. After losing the love of his life, Neville snapped his own wand less than a month later and went to live a muggle life. He went to seminary shortly thereafter and is now Fr Longbottom, a parish priest in the Roman Catholic Diocese of Grand Falls. And Ginny is still trying to "find herself", apparently at the bottom of a bottle and inside men's genitals. Not that I blame her. All of us turned to alcohol as a coping mechanism at some point during that period, many of us to sex, and some of us to other, "harder" drugs.

'George couldn't cope with the death of his brother and burned Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to the ground with him inside. His remains were so charred as to be unrecognisable. My parents proved irrecoverable. I am not greater than Merlin; I tried for a long time to overcome my own obliviation spell, but I could not. So my parents are still alive and well in Australia. I have a little sister, now. But she'll never know I even existed, going to her grave in the belief that she was an only child. None of us ever married. Draco tried his best to convince the jury that he had had a true change of heart during the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry testified on his behalf. But when the jury convicted him and before sentencing, he told the world that neither he nor his parents had ever had a change of heart. They merely saw the way the wind was blowing.

'Like Frodo's wound from Weathertop, none of the damage this war caused has ever really healed. None of us have really moved on. The only one of us that I think is really, truly content is Neville. And I would hesitate to say that even he is "happy". Not very long ago, Harry came to me with a realisation. He couldn't relate to people any more. At least not ordinary people, and not in the ordinary way. The only people still alive that he could really relate to were me and Neville, and to a lesser extent Ron and Ginny and Blaise, his roommate. Blaise is another of our generation whose lives were ruined by trying to be heroes, and the two of them have become friends; he also wishes to be an Unspeakable, though he is here studying necrology. Harry told me, as I already knew, that the one thing he had always wished for most in the world was a real family of his own. And now he cannot have that because he can't relate to anyone. I cannot decide whether that makes me more sad or more angry. If anyone on this planet deserves a family of his own, deserves a "happy ending", it is, without question, Harry Potter. He is the best-and greatest-man that I have ever known, and it has been my highest honour to know him. He would have been a marvellous husband and an excellent father. But he will never have that. Because he gave of himself so much to protect the innocent and the helpless, the very actions that prove how well he deserves family, he cannot have the family he wants so desperately.

'Not long ago, I realised something simimilar. There are very few left I can relate to, either. My roommate, Carter, who was forced to become a hero at her own school, Innsmouth Academy, in the States. Neville. Blaise. Ron and Ginny. And Harry. Above all, Harry. I think-I know-I love him. I think I have loved him for a very long time and only just now noticed. But I can never tell him. It sounds dreadfully trite and banal, but I cannot. The one thing he wants most in this world is a family, and I cannot offer him one: the first sacrifice I made in this stupid war. Dolohov's strange curse that no one could identify. I am unable to have children any more. In some sense it is fitting: my first sacrifice as a hero was my ability to have children. My final sacrifice as a hero is the man I love, because I cannot give him children'.

There the text ended. Harry sat for several minutes in silence, staring at the screen, after he had finished reading the essay. A solitary tear managed to escape from his left eye. He had not shed a single tear in all the time from the Battle until that very day. He did not cry during the funerals after the Battle, he did not cry when Luna's body was brought back to be buried, he did not cry when George killed himself. He did not cry until he learned of just how much Hermione had given to stand by his side.

After a few minutes, he turned to Hermione, who was now sitting beside him on the bed. With a positively haunted expression on his face, he asked her, 'Why didn't you _tell_ me'?

Gently, 'Why do you think? You would have blamed yourself-you're doing it even now, I can tell. Don't. Please, don't. It was my choice to stand by you. And any sacrifices I have made to stand by you-ANY sacrifices at all-were worth it. I'm just sorry that it means that I can't give you what you want. Even if you wanted me...which is absurd...I still couldn't give you a "family"'.

Harry closed his tear-stained eyes and shook his head, unable to believe that one so wise could not understand something so clear. He opened his eyes, inhaled through his nose, and reached out to touch her cheek. 'Hermione...do you really still not understand? I have wanted children all my life. But the thing that I wanted-the one thing that I want-above all others is not children. It's _family_. And for many years now..."family", to me, has meant "Hermione Granger". You _are_ my family already'. He kissed her forehead. 'I would be honoured if you would make it a more official arrangement'.


End file.
